Purged and Purified
by allhaillange
Summary: Reader POV Your life is a connection of the first four seasons of the show. You're kept at the asylum until a chance opportunity transforms your life and gives you a chance to discover something about yourself you were raised to keep hidden.
1. chapter 1

**I** **own nothing, just this piece of fiction. Feel free to give thoughts and comments!**

 _"Fire purges and purifies, scatters our enemies to the wind. What blows away need not be explained."_

 _-Fiona Goode_

You had always been allowed very little freedom in this world. It seemed as if you were nothing but a rag doll for people to wrangle and use to their liking and then leave you, tattered and bare, for the next person who deemed you useful until they did the same, and the cycle would go on.

When you weren't being used you were always confined by something. For most of your life, it had been the care of your religiously confused aunt, who believed that discipline and brutality would keep you grounded and worthy of the Lord's affections --whether it was a Catholic lord, Lutheran, Baptist, or any other she was devout to at the time, the slightest disobediance to his word would get a belt on your back. It didn't help that you were a natural wanderer, and a particularly stubborn one.

Your last day at Briarcliff Manor began with a faint beam of light casting out the darkness in your cell that swallowed you each night. The padded door of your cell unlatched and opened, revealing Frank, the head guard. He lifted you to your feet, hauling your shuddering form out of the patient's quarters, through the cackling and caterwauling of the other patients. It was earlier than the usual time the patients are awoken, you realized, as no one else was let out of their room. You remembered hearing him say something about Sister Jude's office and you searched your memory for the crime so horrible the sister insisted on punishing you for so early in the morning. Your stomach tightened in dread the farther Frank dragged you up Jude's "stairway to heaven", readying yourself for the all too familiar sting of a leather cane biting your ass.

The previous night had been your fourth electroshock therapy session that left you a drooling puddle of convulsions and shudders. Your limbs had turned to noodles, your brain to mush. You spent half of the night crouched on your stale mattress, writhing on pulsing muscles that spasmed with each pump of fresh electricity running through your veins.

Your horrendous and hell sent -- as the Monsignor liked to call it-- ability to play with fire, caused you to be the feistiest and most feared of all the patients. Everyone in the institution looked at you as though you had horns; as though you were the devil himself. The rare and brief times when you were allowed out of your cell, the nuns would clutch their rosaries, averting their eyes from yours in fear of being caught in flames from a look.

You were the only patient without a mental illness, yet your so called treatment was no doubt the most brutal. In just a month, you had been subject to all types of torture good old Briarcliff had to offer -- from being the literal tail end of Sister Jude's beloved canes, to occasional electro shock, on top of the excorsism you were greeted with the day of your arrival at Briarcliff. It was easy to assume that your aunt had left you at some medieval prison. The only friends you had made in the month you had been here were the rats who claimed most of the cell for their own --and, when you weren't quick enough, your meals, that were sloppily served and slid in under your door twice a day.

The click of the door opening to the sister's office came with the same jolt of terror it always had, but this time it multiplied. You thought of the sharp glare in Sister Jude's eyes that could do almost as much damage as her canes and you panicked. You weren't sure how much more your body could take. To your suprise, though, when you entered the dull room of browns and greys, Sister Jude was seated at her desk with folded hands, watching Frank drag you over to a chair facing her desk, sitting you down. There was a moment of silence, and Sister Jude smirked at your puzzled, hazy eyes that searched for a cane. Then she spoke.

"Not quite the picture you're used to seeing, is it?" She laughed in her throat. Her eyes were cruel, but weren't pointed at you with their usual daggers. "I understand you'd probably like more rest given your treatment not many hours ago." You winced, inwardly, at how she said 'treatment'. Her tone was almost teasing, as if your suffering had taken place solely for her entertainment.

" Why am I here, Sister?" You slurred the best you could. It was the first time you had tried to speak since your electroshock. You glared at her, trying to match her eyes with enough conviction.

Her demeanor had changed completely and she bowed her head momentarily, as though she was about to say something damaging. She stood up slowly, rounding her desk to lean back on it on front of you. "Have you ever met anyone else with your ability?" Her lower tone hinted she was getting to the point of your visit.

Your eyes shifted from her face to the whispers of dawn creeping through the windows. You remained silent, unsure how to respond. You never thought of the possibility of not being the only pyromaniac in the world. You shifted as best you could in your straitjacket, having little balance with your arms restricted. Being forced to wear this everyday reminded you of the much smaller one your aunt had purchased when you were no more then five, when the curtains caught in flames after you yanked them down in anger. From then on whatever unpleasant mood you were in set fire to anything you touched. Your aunt had made sure you learned the hard way that an insatiable hellion would not be tolerated in a house of Christ.

"I have." She continued, "There have been many like you." She looked past you, as if reliving a memory. "You're quite the talk of the country. Footage of the Monsignor's leg caught in flames during your excorcism has made the news, as you probably know." She sat up straighter, clasping her hands in her lap. She began to sound like a lawyer, making a verdict against a criminal and you felt a pang of unease, "Naturally, when things get out like this, all sorts of people are bound to see, as it is no longer the secret your aunt had hoped to keep hidden. Which brings me to why I sent for you so early." She rounded back to her desk, again, and looked you straight in the eye.

"There is an academy in Louisiana that houses young girls with similar.." she paused, licking her lips, "defects, like yourself. I understand it has been progressive since the colonies. It educates young women on their abnormalities, coaching them on self control in which they learn to function properly in society." You stared at her blankly, your fingers fiddling with the inside fabric of your straitjacket. Your mind took each word at a time, tracing a path to where this was going. "The administrators of this school," Sister Jude continued, "were of the many who saw the broadcast." Her wrinkled fingers unfolded a peace of paper that was tucked into a folder at the side of the desk, before retaking her seat. You could barely see through the thin paper, words from top to bottom, ending with a dark signiture at the bottom in exaggerated cursive. Jude scanned over, what you assumed was, the letter, setting it in front of her. Your eyes focused on the signature: "M. Snow".

" Your admittance here has only caused commotion and damage. Accusations and threats have been made against Briarcliff since the incident, and, frankly, I'm not sure if you will hold out much longer if the Monsignor continues to look for a cure for something I'm not sure is curable." Despite her usual cold stare, you thought for a moment that you saw bits of sympathy in the Sister's eyes when she looked at you. The mixed emotion and troubles in her eyes made her seem, daresay, human. Your aggravation molded into confusion at her next words. "The head of the council of the Acamemy has agreed to travel to Massachusetts. She is waiting outside as we speak, with a car that will take you to the airport where you are to set off for New Orleans at 5:00." All the words seemed to have filtered out of you brain at that moment, but she wasn't done, "I assume you understand what is taking place, so if there is no confusion, Frank here, will escort you out in no more than five minutes. You'll know well what I mean when I say there better not be any funny buisness once you're out there."

You turned back behind you to Frank, then to Jude, then back to the window that shone with more morning light. It slowly became clear what danger she as head of Briarcliff was getting herself into, sending you to a place that claimed to encourage your 'defect'. "Does... doesn't this go against everything you stand for Sister?" You asked shakily.

"Despite the Monsignor's efforts to make this a holy institution, there is nothing godly about this place. There was evil within these walls long before you arrived." You remained tense, still in a well of confusion. At your silence, she sighed, continuing, "You don't belong here, (Y/N). I know that much. Where you're going, I feel, will do more good for both you and Briarcliff."

You couldn't tell if she was speaking from her mind or the letter. It still wasn't clear. What was her motive? Did the Monsignor know or agree to this? You couldn't pinpoint whether this was out of subtle generosity or fear. You quickly lost any care of all possible reasons as you began to grasp what was about to happen: you were getting out of here. "Sister --"

"Are we going through with this, or are you going continue your stay here?" Jude snapped, visably irritated and in a hurry, "There is no more time to waste."

Sister Jude did not lag. Within minutes, Frank had released you from your straitjacket, making you feel like a baby learning for the first time how to use it's arms, Sister Jude had thrown onto you a dark green, slightly dusty jacket, and you were out the door, your lungs taking in the familiar fresh air they had been deprived of for weeks. You then looked ahead of you, taking in the sight of a tall, bright colored cloaked woman with orange sprouting from her head -- a major contrast from the dark, lifeless colors that filled Briarcliff. She came closer into view as Frank pulled you closer towards the car that seemed to just be a gateway from one asylum to another.


	2. Chapter 2

Heavy silence continued through the car ride and on to the plane, where you were frequently distracted by the graceful, yet peculiar movements and utterances of the orange-haired woman, who convinced you by her violet cloak, long tartan skirt and blood red gloves, had escaped from either a comic strip or Picasso painting. Three albino men in black sat solemnly behind the both of you, making the plane, along with the silence, feel more congested than it was.

"So..." you cleared your throat awkwardly, "I... take it you're not a nun?"

"I could never devote myself to anything enough to dress in those atrocious black rags morning to night, I'd make my vows to the devil first."

The woman tossed her head back dramatically, apparently only phased by the image of herself in a nun's habbit than your poor choice of conversation starter.

"On the contrary my dear, where you're going you will find to be less of a nunnery than anywhere you've ever been."

" So, you're Ms. Snow then? The one who's gonna coach me on my defect, or whatever the hell people consider it now?"

"Just Myrtle, dear, please." She looked out the window as she spoke, leaving you without an answer. She huffed to herself after a moment, "So bland and austere, the catholics. Their grammar is just as undecorated as their wardrobe." She let out a short laugh, "Defect. Gracious, you would've thought she was shipping you off to some physics lab. No darling, you're not a malfunction of nature nor are you a demon; you are a witch."

That one was suprisingly new, you thought. You had been treated as a malfunction of nature your entire life, and called Demon possibly more than your own name, but never had you heard the word "witch" --which was strange, given your aunt's always superstitious nature. It then hit you that no one had mentioned her hand in this, if she had any at all. You couldn't imagine her approving you basically being smuggled from one end of the country to another. Unless it was her initiative of course.

"You don't seem very stunned," Myrtle continued at your neutral expression. "It usually takes a while for it to register in young girls' minds that they're not exactly regular. Though, I suppose, it already has for you, given the situation you just left," She eyed your thin form and raggedy clothes through her cat-eye glasses, "Or, dare I say, escaped. "

"Well, I guess you could call it that," You muttered. "I've been through hell and back. At this point, I'm not sure anything can suprise me anymore."

"Well, be prepared for a change of mind," She said, matter-of-factly. "We've certainly endured more than both the demons and the mental patients."

The remainder of the flight was silent, and three hours began to feel like three eternities. Hunger started rumbling in your stomach and the odor of your cell that still clung to you assulted your nose, and you prayed that this supposed witch house atleast had decent plumbing and food that tasted of anything but soggy cardboard.

Two wrought iron gates opened to a narrow pathway that lead you to a large, white, colonial mansion. As big as it was, you expected when you reached the steps to hear faint noises and voices of flourishing students from the inside, like you would at a regular school, but the shiver that slithered up your spine as you got to the door told you this may be just the opposite.

The door opened slowly, eerily, showing no one behind it. You walked in hesitantly, finding yourself completely alone and engulfed in an expanse of more white. Light from the windows created a path on the wooden floor that your feet followed.

You wandered into into a vast living area with polished, victorian furniture and white walls littered with numerous paintings of elegant women who's eyes seemed to scrutinize your every move. They watched you walk past the marble fireplace, grazing your fingers along the top as you looked at your madded hair through the mirror above it, and followed you over to the black, grand piano in the corner.

You pushed down a key, then another, liking the boom-like sound it made into the lifeless room. You kept at this for a moment, enjoying your solitude and the sound of the opposing keys, until a familiar song came to memory, and soon your fingers were dancing effortlessly along them. Confident that there was no one other than the painted women around you, you began to play harder, louder, and a long missed rush of contentment filled your chest the more freely you played.

The forgotten sound of a piano was calming and a pleasant distinction from the cries of patients, cracks of riding crops, overbearing plane silence, and mutterings of strange witch women-- not to mention the all but overplayed record of Dominique that had been your only source of music for weeks. This was probably the only thing someone could do with complete abandon and not be worried about being chastized or feared.

The natural flow you'd found, soon after you'd found it, was disrupted by a lighter, but more prominent sound.

"Schubert,"

The song instantly died and you jolted from the stool. The disruption was gazing calmly at you, slightly leaning on the door frame across the room: a tall, well dressed blonde with dark eyes and full lips that spread into a gracious smile.

"That's a hard piece to play. You must be (Y/N)."

You stood frozen, but nodded after a moment. She walked toward you.

"I'm Cordelia, headmistress at Miss Robichaux's."

The blonde's presence was eminent and not at all threatening, but it was intimidating, and you felt yourself become more flustered the closer she got. She offered her hand and you took it, timidly.

"I, uh...I was just walking around and, um, I didn't think anyone was here,"

"No, it's perfectly alright. It needs a lighter mood around here, it can get too dull sometimes. You play beautifully." She smiled.

You attempted a smile back, but averted your gaze from her warm eyes, now begining to feel the realization of just being caught practically pounding on a stranger's piano creep up your cheeks.

"Come," Taking a step back toward the doorway, Cordelia motioned her hand for you to follow. "I'll show you to your room. The other girls are out on a field trip, I figured you needed some peace while you adjusted and got settled. I know you've had quite the experience."

The bathroom connected to your room was more exquisite than any hotel bathroom you'd seen, with a chandelier and a fireplace almost as big as the one downstairs.

You stripped yourself of the rags you'd once been forced to call clothes and turned on the shower so that the water was nearly scalding. Normally you wouldn't have the water this hot, but you needed to burn. You threaded through the mads and tangles in your hair and scrubbed your skin almost frantically, content to pull out patches of your own hair and rub yourself raw until it sent all evidence of Briarcliff down the drain, away, and off of your body for good.

You tilted your head and rolled your neck over your shoulders, focusing on nothing but the steam, the water on your face and a long lost memory it invoked.

 _Your boots dug into the dirt beneath you as you crouched beside the river. Your eyes were closed, head thrown back. The mossy breeze brushed your face. It was the only stop of your half an hour journey on the back of Jimmy's bike back to Jupiter and Elsa's incessant hounding. You stubbed out the remains of your cigarette into the dirt and slipped off Jimmy's leather jacket, welcoming the goosebumps that rose on your arms from the breeze._

 _"Come on, Inferno!"_

 _Jimmy was in the middle of the river, boots and all, splashing around like a wild dog._

" _You've rested enough, don't be so stiff!"_

 _Water splashed onto your face, followed by a laugh, and you winced._

 _"I'm not stiff, I'm tired."_

 _You watched him run further into the river as he laughed. He pulled off his now drenched shirt that clung to his body as it slipped up his torso and off his toned arms. He threw it at you and winked._

 _You caught it, rolling your eyes, and tossed it behind you before ditching your own shirt and slipping off your shoes._

 _He cupped his hands, still in gloves, into the water and spashed his face, then nodded towards your hips, "Still got the stash?"_

 _You pulled out of your pocket a small bag full of white powder and held it up to him with a smirk before slipping it safely in the inside pocket of his jacket before peeling off your jeans. Stepping in, the ice cold of the river shot up your legs, and you treaded over to him across the sharp rocks that dug into your feet._

 _"Wouldn't wanna lose the fairy dust, now would we?" His nearly black eyes traveled your body, sizing you up in that way of his that both annoyed you and made your kness weak._

 _Droplets from his hair fell onto his nose, onto his lips that his tongue licked over, and onto his chest, traveling down the center of his stomach and down the front of his pants. Silencing him altogether suddenly seemed more interesting than answering, so instead, you pulled him to you and smashed your lips together_.

 _You both spent God knows how long in the water, your mouth fused with his, tasting the river on his tongue. Your hands explored his back, teasing with your nails, and you enjoyed the soft_ _growls in his throat. His cold, strong arms encircled you waist and lifted you up so your toes rested on his boots._

 _You both broke with a hot sigh. He laughed and playfully poked your nose with the tip of his tongue._ _You lifted your head and lightly took it between your teeth, while you reached behind you and yanked off his gloves, throwing them towards the rest of your clothes. His loving gaze never left your face._

 _"You and me, Inferno."_

 _You twirled your fingers through his unruly curls. "I hate when you call me that."_

 _"No, you don't. Besides, we all need a great nickname."_

 _"Speak for yourself, Lobster Boy." You sassed and grinned against his mouth._

 _With a raise of his eyebrows, you were up in the air and over his shoulder. He hollered, spinning you around, kicking and splashing through the water._

" _Jimmy!"_

 _He walked you over and set you down on a rock near your pile of clothes and got on it to kneel over you, laughing like a little boy who just chopped off his sister's braids._

 _You hooked your fingers on his belt loops and pulled him down with you, locking your legs behind his knees. But before you could shift on top of him, your arms were pinned against the rock. You grunted, shifting barely enough to do any_ _justice. You thought of putting up more of a fight and kicking him off, but honestly, it'd be tragic to lose or forget this feel of his slippery chest moving against your topless body, or his lips working magic on your ears and neck, or him settling_ _down fully onto you, and feeling him rubbing against your bare thigh._

 _"God, I hate you." You whined through a sigh as he nibbled a path down your throat, and his hands decended..._

As your hands roamed down your stomache and across your pelvis, you looked down your body at your clean skin that was now painted with red marks from the hot water.

When you looked up, you spotted two small dots appear behind the white shower curtain. They slowly grew larger, and larger, until they formed big, dark blobs that soon engulfed the curtain. The water turned ice cold, causing you to yelp, but they stood stil, until the curtain was pierced by two sharp blades that began to puncture it, repeatedly.

You screamed, slipping and falling to your knees. One of the knives tore a long slit in the curtain, revealing two figures in long capes with white masks, and you screamed louder in horror, scrambling to the corner of the tub.

"Jesus stop screaming, you're not dead." One of the masks lifted, revealing a younge blonde.

"What- who the hell are you?!" you yelled, reaching haphazardly for your towell and covering yourself.

"Calm down girl, we always do this to the newbies. It's tradition." The other one slipped off her mask, "I'm Queenie."

"(Name)." You replied. Once you steadied your breathing, you then asked, "So, chopping up newcomers is your tradition?"

"Don't be dramatic princess, we're just welcoming you. C told us to keep it light anyway." The blonde said, nonchalantly as she took off her cape. "Besides, considering you're pretty much the outcome if Carrie and The exorcist had a baby, we figured one horror clìche needed another."

"Funny how you're the one calling her a clìche." Queenie shot back, provoking a glare from the blonde, who flashed you with the fakest of smiles.

"I'm Madison. Madison Montgomery."

You nodded and wiped you face, still clutching your towell.

For a few long seconds, you all stayed still until Madison huffed, "Well, this is officially awkward. I guess we'll see you at dinner with the rest of us. The clothes on your bed are from all of us, but mostly from me. I recommend you don't wear the ones from Nan, hers are the ones that look like maternity outfits." At that, Queenie scoffed and rolled her eyes. Madison turned, swinging her cape over her shoulder, "Welcome to the sorority!" She concluded with mock enthusiasm, and with that, you were left alone.


	3. Chapter 3

_"...and all this time, I never suspected the night would come when the dance would end."_

You liked roaming the streets, the anonymity of it. All you were required to show was your outer surface. Tonight, like all the others, you remained blissfully anonymous and equal to the strangers around you.

There was no destination in your mind, and frankly, you didn't care enough for one when you could snatch an opportunity to slip out of evening gathering.

"You'll get mugged!"Nan had said when you made for the back door."Cordelia can alwayshear the doors."

"Bitch, just leave. It's rare Cordy does anything truly threatening."Madison popped up, giving you the chance to scram-- the one time you appreciated her existence.

Cordelia waskind and nothing short of compassionate, but was too much of a softy for her own good. Her occasional obliviousness helped a hell of a lot when you wanted time to yourself.

The heels of your (Zoe's) black suede boots cracked against the street, turning heads of passing strangers, and you threaded a cigarette between your fingers as you aimlessly walked.

Eventually, you came across what looked like an old firehouse but found as you got closer that it was bustling inside. There was nothing crediting the building, save for two palm trees bracketing the doors. Walking in felt like entering underground; the weathered brick walls were chipped and without windows and lit up glass illuminated the ceiling-high rows of liquor. There was the typical aroma of metal and sweat.

You sat down on a corner stool, refusing to order as to not have to give away your age and get thrown out and lose this sliver of normalcy.

Your eyes sorted through the space, searching for another's.

At a table against the far wall sat a curly haired boy who looked close enough to your age, maybe younger. The girl across from him slouched onto the table while another perched on the arm of the chair. A third girl, clearly the runt of the bunch, swayed stiffly beside them. They each shifted nervously every five seconds and looked unbearably very out of place. High school sneak-ins, you guessed.

Your pulseraced slightly as you looked at the boy. You inhaled while conjuring your present intents and desires and molding them into tangible engery that you projected just enough to lull his attention to you.

When your eyes finally captured his, he stood to meet you, oblivious to the now astonished girls watching him, big eyed, muttering to each other. You smiled at his structured features and dominating grin, and knew you'd chosen well tonight.

With your gaze trained on his, you gripped the denim of his jacket and steadily moved the two of you into the mesh of sweaty alcohol flooded bodies.

You did this sometimes. It was as easy as breathing; pulling people around on invisible strings, chaining them to you for a night or however long the lonely void within you required. You didn't control their minds, but their desires. You filled their bodies with your impulses, which you allowed them to think were their own, and after they obliviously fulfilled their purpose and left you with yourself, reality consumed you, viciously, like a hangover, reminding you how alone and shallow you truly were.

The hypnotic rendezvous came to a halt when you felt an abrupt absence of hands on your waist. There was a sudden vacuousness in his eyes.

He had started away from you, towards the bar, where a woman sat cross legged on the edge of a stool with a vicious grin on her face. Immediately, she welcomed him with a curt raise of her glass and a suggestive lean and flicked back her sheer blonde hair.

The three abandoned girls, who you had completely forgotten about, remained just as baffled. The girl sitting down rose and crossed over to the bar and tugged his arm in a confused laugh, trying in vain to make him rejoin her and the others. But the woman kept highjacking his attention effortlessly, almost rehearsed.

Your breathing quickened and you allowed it to boil within you again, pointing your gaze until his attention returned to you once more, disregarding both the woman and the girl, who both followed the direction of his eyes to you with an identical look of surprise and resentment.

The woman looked atyou for a long while before recoiling her long fingers around her martini. The way she brought the glass to her lips was mesmerizing and every leisure motion that followed, even the clenching of her cheeks when she swallowed, looked like a dance.

Her age became more evident the closer you got. The allure that dripped from her enthralled you much more than what's-his-name's cheekbones.

You took his hand and flickered your eyes to him and the woman and indicated to the direction of the door. The woman considered you ruefully, before glancing at the boy and standing, as if this were a chore, and whiping hands on her black dress. The boy of course blindly complied, abandoning once again the confused girl who objected with an appalled stutter.

Exiting the doors, you lead the two to a small discrete corner at the side of the building.

After checking if all was secluded, immediately the woman pulled the boy into a kiss, leaving you an outsider in seconds. Not one to be left in the dust, you sunk up behind him and began to mouthe at the back of his neck, and reached to stoke her arms. He turned and sought out your mouth, smiling with the giddiness of getting lucky twice in a row.

This did something to the woman, something that gave her eyes a sudden fire, and she practically threw herself at you both, throwing you off him and returning him to her. She ran her hands through his curls and kissed him feverishly.

If this bitch wanted a cat fight, she'd get one.

You slunked up behind her and began tonguing her ear and slowly clawed her back. She fidgeted away, not giving any indication that she would want anything do with you at any point in the night.

Too bad bitch, you thought. You took ahold of her hair and pulled her head back against your shoulder. Your kissed her neck tentatively and breathed in her cigarette-masked perfume. She didn't jerk away, getting the gist you weren't going anywhere, and relaxed, even begining to give small sighs. She grunted at your hand gripping her waist more determinedly and splayed her hands across and down the boys chest.

Your kisses on her neck became wild and traveled over her jaw to her mouth, but merely flicking your tongue at her lips, hinting, then backing away when she nipped at it.

Teasing was easy with her, apparently, because she turned and gripped you and in a frenzy fused your lips together.

The penetrating rage in her eyes seemed to travel through all she was and out through her hands, icy hands that groped and caressed so exquisitely you couldn't tell if you were being invaded or worshipped.

Her nails tugged the back of your neck as you kissed, causing your mouth to open wider so that hers could be more bruising. You moaned at her greed and vigor while you both devoured each other, like a contest of who could suffocate the other quickest. You sucked on her tongue - its wetness made you delirious- and bit harder than necessary. You used this moment to push her to the brick wall behind her.

Some unknown confidence compelled you to stare right into her deep hazel eyes as you sunk down in front of her.

Mister cheekbones chuckled softly, and began stoking and petting your hair, serving to make you inwardly gag. Thankfully, when he dared to slide up against the woman, she pushed him away from the both of you, but kept her hand around his throat, while boring her eyes down on you.

You attempted an equally intense gaze and roughly lifted her very very expensive looking jet black dress and wantonly, messily, kissed her where her panties should've been. You began to lick all over her hot bare flesh, nibbling her lips, inching your tongue inside that earned a hand digging into your head.

She was hesitant with her moans, like she didn't want to give you the satisfaction of knowing you were doing things right. This didn't faze you though; she was flushed all over and twitching with so much need, you wouldn't have been surprised if this was her first lay in years.

You smirked at the thought of this high-maintenance polished bitch whining and wailing for it in the middle of an ally, but you didn't have know this woman to get a hunch that she didn't beg for anything. The force of her hips rocking repeatedly was the only plea you were going to get - a plea that was not at all pleading and all demanding.

Just a few more seconds and she went off against your face, no longer bothering to try to act composed. Her silky whimpering and groaning were so raw and gutteral, straight lava boiled in your stomach and you panted against her. Her nails ran lightly across your scalp as she came down.

Wasting no time, you stood up and went straight for the boy, who had remained in the same spot, and kissing him roughly. He seemed to like the taste of her, and it was unsettling how much that floored you.

You pushed him against the wall and turned your back to him, reaching for the woman and pulling her against you, immediately seeking her mouth, her taste now shared amongst the three of you.

You pushed back into the boy's crotch, surging him to dry hump you from behind. His gyrations against your ass pushed your hips into hers. Each time you made sure you gasped directly into her ear. This seemed to get her going again, because she sighed sharply and bit your jaw. You called out and clenched her shoulders with your nails hard as payback.

Your fingers threaded through her unbelievably soft blonde waves as you licked a long messy line across her throat, loving the mixed sensations of the vibration of her growl and the warmth of her pelvis each time you rocked forward. You felt completely unhibited and void of any restrictions for the first time in too long even though you were being brutally sandwiched by two bodies.

Just then, one of those cold hands slithered beneath your dress and three fingers entered you, stretching you to the point of stinging. Her black nails were long enough to scratch every other thrust, but there was a thrill of picturing them inside you. She pressed herself further against you, in turn pressing you further against him.

At this point, he was nothing really but an obstacle now, and frankly you wanted him to get the hell out of here. You reached behind you for the crotch impatiently straining against your ass and reached into his pants while she pumped, in and out, in and out, sucking your top lip into her delicious mouth as she did so.

You surged sideways, slightly, spreading your legs wider and pushing your hips further, for some reason wanting to look as much as a slut to this woman as possible. Though you had no idea why, you knew your pleasure was taunting her. There was something about her that made you want to be on display, like her attention was a reward. You must've been a sight with someone's hand up your skirt and yours down someone's pants.

Behind you, your former conquest finally came in frenzied thrusts and he barely finished before he'd moved from you and swiftly out of the ally with a wave of the bitch's hand.

Your hips missed a beat at the realization that the woman hadn't so much as spoke and he'd gone practically flying with a mere motion of her hand.

She chuckled at your baffled stare and slid the other hand up your torso to grip the juncture of your neck. With a cocky raised eyebrow, she elatedly pushed your back to the bricks, and then her thrusts became more thorough and rhythmic and, oh God, her palm came up to caress your clit each time in such an attentive way that made you feel like your head was going to burst. It felt like you were riding waves.

"I'm there," you barely breathed out, and then showed her with your convulsing body, clenching around her fingers, all the while keeping your eyes open and locked on her face.

Her eyes seized yours back as her hand lightly squoze around its spot on your neck. As you began to come down, her face slightly dropped. There was a look of hopelessness in her eyes and she stared at you with something that looked like resentment. For a second you felt like she loathed your entire existence and was going to snap your neck any second.

You caught your breath as she lent forward and brought her mouth to your ear.

"Tactlessness will get you killed, darling." she whispered.

You saw a hand wave over your face, and then all was black.


End file.
